


The Mission Briefing 2021: Hollywood Goes Hogan

by PapaBearAwards



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Awards: The Papa Bear Awards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:15:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28738596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PapaBearAwards/pseuds/PapaBearAwards
Summary: The Papa Bear Awards are here again, and Hollywood is looking to the best stories for some inspiration. But since when has Hollywood ever gotten it right anyway?
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Competitions

The sky was a bouquet of colours as the sun set on Stalag 13. Colonel Hogan, leaning against the wall of his barracks soaked it all in. For just a few minutes, he was unhurried, unbothered. He supposed he should take this time to contemplate life, or the meaning of the universe or something profound. But he was content to let his mind wander randomly, unencumbered by the stresses of his job as commander of an underground sabotage organization.

But moments such as these were never meant to last long. The sun was on a schedule, and so was he. So when the sun dipped down below the horizon, Hogan hurried back into his barracks, sending a quick nod to Schultz on the way. The sergeant of the guard pretended not to notice; after all, it was after roll call and Hogan should’ve been in his barracks half an hour ago.

As soon as he was inside, Hogan headed straight for the little stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip and frowned at how weak it was. Red Cross packages wouldn’t be arriving for a few more days and their supplies were dwindling. Still, the mug was warm in his cold hands, so he couldn’t complain too much.

“Any news?” he asked.

“Just got a message from London, Colonel,” Kinch reported. “PBAs are going to be dropped tonight.”

“That time again?” Hogan asked as he took another sip.

“Seems so. London says the writers had a tough year, but they managed to put together nearly 200 stories.”

Hogan frowned. “A tough year? How so?”

Kinch shrugged. “They didn't go into details. Just said it was hard.”

“Harder than being stuck here?” Newkirk asked incredulously.

“Hardships aren’t a competition,” Carter pointed out.

“Oui, and if they were, we know you would win, Pierre,” LeBeau said with a good-natured smirk.

“Who, me? You’ve never heard me complain about a thing! What’s one thing I’ve complained about?” Newkirk asked.

“Fish stew,” LeBeau said.

“Can’t blame a man for not wanting to eat poison!”

“That hole in your sock,” Carter added.

“Clothes are supposed to last, Andrew! Those socks were only a bloody month old!”

“How about when you were put on KP?” Kinch asked.

“That was an unjust punishment! If a man can’t speak out against injustice, he might as well be living in Nazi Germany!”

“You are living in Nazi Germany,” Carter pointed out.

“Exactly! And if that’s not something to complain about, I don’t know what is!” Newkirk cried.

“All right fellas, calm down,” Hogan ordered. “You’re fighting about the wrong competition here. The Papa Bear Awards, remember? When we read all the fanfiction stories that have been completed during the last year and vote on which ones we like the best?”

“Ah, oui, we remember,” LeBeau said, ducking his head sheepishly.

“When’s the drop, Kinch?” Hogan asked.

“0200 tonight at drop point J,” Kinch replied. “There’s something else, Colonel.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they’re sending someone along with the stories,” Kinch reported.

“Who?” Hogan asked.

“They didn’t say,” Kinch replied apologetically.

“A right fount of knowledge London is tonight,” Newkirk drawled.

“Maybe it’s one of the writers!” Carter speculated.

“Bite your tongue!” LeBeau cried. “Whenever any of them show up, they are nothing but trouble!”

“You’re just jealous because none of them ever swoon over you,” Newkirk smirked. LeBeau just scowled and crossed his arms.

“If it is an author, London will have a reason for sending them,” Hogan said. “But whoever it is, we’ll be sure to roll out the welcome mat for them, right?” It wasn’t a question. It was an order. The men mumbled their acceptance. “Good. Now, I need two volunteers to pick up the packages.”

There was silence. Newkirk grabbed the cigarette that was on his ear and lit it. “I think-”

“Thank you, Newkirk. Anyone else?” Hogan asked.

“I was going to say I think that Kinch ought to go. You know how he gets after all those stories make a point of mentioning how often he’s stuck in camp. Might be good for him to stretch his legs,” Newkirk said.

“Gee, thanks,” Kinch said with an eyeroll.

“I heard two volunteers,” Hogan said. “Newkirk, Kinch, the job is yours.”

“Brilliant,” Newkirk groaned. “But be warned, if they drop a good looking bird, I may just get lost on the way home.”

\-------

And now a message from your friendly neighbourhood PBA committee:

Hello everyone. Yes, it's that time of year again when we vote for the best HH fanfiction written during the previous year. With all its difficulties, 2020 was still a good year for stories with over 180!

Good work everyone!

You can find a list of all the eligible stories on our (hopefully permanent) website www. papabearawards .com (remove spaces). You will also find all the rules and regulations there.

We're still in the process of setting the site up, but it should be complete by January 17th.

In the meantime, here are some key dates: Nominations open January 18, 2021 and go to February 15. Voting will being as soon as the nominations are posted and run to March 15.

Check back on the story for more updates and to find out who is coming to Stalag 13!


	2. Mr. Buckles

Kinch arrived back in the radio room, carrying two packs and a suitcase. He set them down on the ground at Hogan’s feet.

“Any troubles?” Hogan asked. It was always a risk to go outside the wire, but even more so to collect an airdrop. Though their drop zone was quite remote, there was always a chance that an over-eager patrol would see the courier plane and decide to investigate.

Kinch made a face. “Well…”

“Well what?” Hogan asked. “And where’s Newkirk?”

“He’s bringing in our guest,” Kinch replied.

From his seat at the radio, LeBeau groaned and rolled his eyes. “I knew it was an author. They are always so slow.”

“It’s not an author,” Kinch said warily. “That might have been an improvement.”

Hogan quirked an eyebrow. “All right, I’ll bite- who is it?”

Kinch didn’t have a chance to answer. A flash of light and a little pop came from the tunnel. LeBeau instantly jumped out of his seat and Carter, who had been leaning against the wall near the ladder, suddenly straightened.

“I’m telling you, this is great! Fantastic!” a voice said from down the hall. Hogan had to assume it belonged to their guest.

Sure enough, Newkirk came into view, loaded down with a heavy duffelbag and a suitcase. A man in a snazzy suit and fedora followed him, holding nothing more than a camera. He snapped a picture as soon as he came into the radio room. He popped out the flashbulb and quickly screwed in another.

“Who’s this, a reporter?” Hogan asked Kinch.

“No…”

The guest looked up and flashed a wide, somewhat plastic smile at Hogan. He looked somewhat familiar, but Hogan couldn’t quite put his finger on how he knew him.

“And you must be the man himself: Colonel Hogan!” the guest said. He strode up to Hogan and put out his hand. Hogan shook it.

“I must be,” he replied, unamused and sizing up the man suspiciously. “And you are?”

The man looked offended. Then he laughed loudly. Hogan wasn’t sure which was more fake- the man’s smile or his laugh. “What a joker. This guy,” the man said, jerking his thumb at Hogan. “Of course I am the Bryan Buckles: world famous Hollywood movie producer.” He breathed on his fingernails and then rubbed them on his chest before inspecting them.

“Bryan Buckles?!” Carter repeated.

“Certainly,” Buckles replied, bobbing his head a little from side to side as he flashed another cheesy smile. “Producer of the greatest movies Hollywood has ever seen: Weep Wilderness, Reptilicas, The Monster of Hollow Mountain, The Land That Time Didn’t Remember. Oh, and I suppose you might know my less famous cousin, Byron Buckles,” he added with a disinterested wave of his hand.

“Blimey,” Newkirk muttered under his breath.

Hogan scrunched his nose as if he had just smelled something foul. “All right, so what are you doing here?” The last thing he needed was to make nice with another Hollywood type. Byron Buckles, the movie actor, had been insufferable enough.

“It’s simple. I’m always on the look out for another great movie idea. I heard about your little operation here and used my contacts to make a trip here for research purposes,” Buckles explained.

Hogan frowned. “There’s no way anyone at HQ would approve this.”

“Oh please,” Buckles said dismissively. “I’m from Hollywood. What we want, we get. It’s a matter of influence, Hogan old boy. Besides, you should feel honoured. I’m going to make you a star. Well, not you personally, of course. We’ll cast someone suitable in your role.”

“But the operation here is classified,” Carter objected. “Isn’t it.”

Again, Buckles waved his hand dismissively. “We’ll change the names, the location.”

“But-” LeBeau started. 

“I have full approval, so there’s no use arguing. Now,” Buckles clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Before I left, someone told me that you are hosting some sort of story competition?”

Hogan exchanged a wary look with Kinch. “Yeah,” Kinch replied. “The Papa Bear Awards. See, there are some authors who write stories about us and then we vote on which ones we like the best.”

“And those are them?” Buckles ask, pointing to the pack on the floor. 

“Yes sir. We think that’s all of them,” Kinch said. “London says they’re might be some changes. The authors have until January 25th to find any discrepencies and then the list will be finalized. London will drop any extra stories or send word about any that need to be dropped this year.”

“Excellent. So you’ll all pick the best scripts-”

“Stories,” Newkirk corrected.

“Same thing. You’ll pick all the best scripts and then I’ll take them with me to Hollywood. Why, I’ll have a team on it in no time to adapt them to the silver screen,” Buckles said.

“Would you like to read and vote on them too, Mr. Buckles?” Carter asked. “Nominations aren’t due until February 15.”

“Oh, oh no,” Buckles laughed. “Me read a script? That’s what interns are for, my good man. They’re young, they know what the rabble wants. And, best of all, you don’t even have to pay them! The experience is enough!”

“And I thought I was a crook,” Newkirk mumbled.

“Now, while I’m here I’ll need my own quarters. Goose down pillows and comforter. Oh, and I absolutely require three soft boiled eggs in the morning, toast with grape jelly, three strips of bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice. And of course a bowl of M&Ms. But just the green ones.”

“Now hold it, Buckles,” Hogan protested. “You do know there’s a war going on, don’t you?”

Buckles blinked. “Why yes. And you do know that it’s Hollywood that’s selling all the war bonds to fund it? Of course you do. Now, someone get my bags and take me to my room. I need my rest if I am going to make the greatest picture of all time!” Without waiting for anyone to follow his orders, Buckles marched off down one of the tunnels.

Hogan looked up and sighed. “Why couldn’t they have sent DeMille?”


	3. Hogan's Heroines

Colonel Hogan lay on his top bunk, reading a particularly good story in which he was the main hero. It never ceased to amaze him how engrossed he could become in these stories when they were all about him and his men. But there were plenty of good yarns, and their characterizations were surprisingly accurate.

“Say, Hogan?”

Hogan sighed and lowered the papers in his hand to look over at Buckles. “Yes?”

“Do you think you can read a little faster?” Buckles asked as he tried to peek over his shoulder.

“Why? I thought you weren’t going to read any of these. ‘That’s what interns are for’,” Hogan said, somewhat contemptuously. 

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s just I want to get the ball on this movie rolling and this is taking so long,” Buckles answered.

“Nominations aren’t due until **February 15**. That gives me a week and I intend to savour the stories I have left.”

“Fine,” Buckles said impatiently. He sighed and flopped himself down in Hogan’s chair and picked up a pen which he then dropped. He made a few sounds with his lips as he continued to play with the pencil.

Hogan sighed and dropped his papers after an unsuccessful attempt to go back to the story. A little miffed, he sat up and swung his legs over the side. “You know, Buckles,” he said through gritted teeth, “there’s no harm in reading the stories just for your own amusement.”

“Nah,” Buckles said, waving away the suggestion.

“Well, if you read some, you could make your own nominations. I’m sure _your_ taste is much better than ours.”

“I only have a week left and there are almost 200 stories. I realize you read slower than a glacier, but even a normal person can’t do that!”

Hogan scrunched his nose at the slight. He _didn’t_ read slowly; he _savoured_! “Well a lot of people start late. They just focus on one section, like the snapshots, or the challenges, and they send in their nominations for those. And then when the voting round comes along, they have a much smaller pool of stories they have to read in the other categories.”

Buckles bobbed his head from side to side as if he were considering that. “I suppose there’s nothing else to do around here. There’s a shocking lack of entertainment!”

“Yeah, it’s rough,” Hogan said dryly. 

“All right. I’ll have a go at a few,” Buckles said. He grabbed the papers off Hogan’s bunk. Hogan opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. It wasn’t worth the fight.

“Tell me, Hogan- do any of these stories have women in them?”

“Women?” Hogan repeated.

“Yes. I’m noticing a distinct lack of women around camp-”

“You know,” Hogan interrupted, feeling annoyed, “I keep telling the Kommandant that we need more women around here, but he keeps saying something about there being a war going on and how we’re _prisoners_.”

“Darn it, Hogan, there must be _some_. You can’t sell a story without a love interest! Not in Hollywood.”

“There’s a few,” Hogan conceded. “But usually they work for the Underground. They’re tough as nails and I don’t think they would like to be passed off as just _love interests_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buckles said dismissively. “I’m sure they all have beauty _and_ brains. But which one would you say is the sexiest?”

“Does it matter?” Hogan asked, a little confused. “It’s not like you’re going to cast them to play themselves. Shouldn’t you be more interested in whose story is most compelling?”

Buckles just laughed. “You mean give a woman a story arc? You don’t see a lot of action movies, do you, Hogan.”

Hogan frowned and shook his head. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he supposed. The last movie he saw Buckles’ cousin in, the woman was nothing more than a pretty doll that cooed over the hero and not much else. The women Hogan had the privilege of fighting alongside deserved so much more than that.

“Well, there’s Marya. She’s frustrating and exasperating and crazy and completely brilliant. She’s a Russian operating in plain sight in the middle of Nazi Germany. She’s got nerves of steel and she’s _always_ one step ahead of me. 

“And then there’s Tiger. She’s got more courage in her little finger than a whole platoon of soldiers. She’s risked her life more times than I can count to make sure vital information was passed along.

“And, of course, there’s Helga and Hilda. They’re not necessarily part of the Underground, but without them, a lot of our plans would be dead in the water.

“Dr. Suzette Lechay went toe to toe with the Gestapo and played her part so perfectly that-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Hogan, “Buckles said, holding up his hands. “Five women? This isn’t going to be a movie about a knitting club. I mean with that many women, they might even _talk_ to each other, and there’s only so much each of them can say about the heroes before-”

“But they _are_ the heroes,” Hogan insisted.

Buckles arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Look, people want to see movies about manly men doing manly things before ending up with the perfectly sweet and sexy girl in the end. So, do you have any stories like that?”

Hogan sighed. “I’ll go check,” he said before making his way to the door.

From his seat, Buckles chuckled to himself. “Five leading _female_ roles? Now that’s just silly!”


	4. Casting Call

Once again, Hogan was reading. The nominations for the Papa Bear Awards were in. Now he was reading and rereading the nominated stories to make sure he picked just the right ones for his votes. He had tried to read them all before, but some had slipped under his radar. And others he simply didn’t remember, which was a shame because upon reading them again, he found he quite enjoyed them.

“You’re mad!”

Someone in the common room was not pleased.

With a sigh, Hogan dropped his story and jumped off his bunk. Straightening his jacket and making sure his hat was in place, he steeled himself and then went to go see what all the commotion was about. He found LeBeau squaring off with Buckles, his face red and his hands balled into fists. Kicnh was holding the back of LeBeau’s coat to keep him from lunging at the movie producer. The others were either ignoring the spectacle, or watching with varying degrees of amusement. 

“I don’t know why you’re complaining!” Buckles said, exasperated. “You’re funny, he’s funny. You’re short, he’s short. If anything, I’m giving you an extra few inches! You should be happy!”

“I am _not_ funny,” LeBeau snarled with a glare designed to incinerate Buckles where he stood. 

“What’s going on here?” Hogan asked.

“This, this, this… cochon wants to cast Charlie Chaplin to play _me_!” LeBeau cried.

From his bunk, Carter looked up from his reading. "Gosh, I don't know Louis. It's _the_ Charlie Chaplin. It's kind of an honour when you think about it." 

LeBeau turned his withering look to Carter. "He's a comedian, he's old enough to be my father, and he's _English_!" he spat out the last word venomously. 

"I think I'm offended," Newkirk drawled without looking up from his own reading. 

"I gotta go with LeBeau on this," Hogan said. Not necessarily because he agreed with him, but because he disliked Buckles so immensely. Truthfully, he thought Carter was right- it would've been an honour to be played by Chaplin. 

Buckles crossed his arms and eyed Hogan contemptuously. "Then who would _you_ suggest play Shorty here?" 

"Shorty?!" LeBeau cried. 

"How about Claude Rains?" Hogan suggested.

"Claude Rains?!" LeBeau cried. "He's old and _English_ too!" 

"Again, offended," Newkirk said, this time with a little more conviction as he tossed aside his story and sat up to watch the scene unfolding below him. 

"Didn't he play a Frenchman in _Casablanca_?" Carter asked. 

"Playing a Frenchman is not the same as _being_ a Frenchman!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"Maurice Chevalier?" Kinch suggested. 

"He is old too," LeBeau said. 

"Well you are the oldest here," Carter pointed out. 

"But I am not a grandpa!" LeBeau exclaimed. "Why not Gilbert Gil? He is young, handsome, and French!" 

"Who? Never mind. I'll make a note." Buckles grabbed a pencil and pad of paper from the table and very obviously wrote down LeBeau's suggestion. That mollified LeBeau who relaxed enough for Kinch to let him go. "All right, now, what about you?" he said, pointing his pencil at Newkirk. "Do you have any opinions on who plays you?" 

Newkirk just rolled his eyes and flopped back down. "I don't give a toss," he said as he grabbed his papers again. "I'm not a prima donna like some people."

"All right then." Buckles sat down at the table and tapped the pencil against his chin. "Cary Grant."

"Cary Grant?!" 

The protest came from Hogan. Both LeBeau and Kinch snickered at the suggestion. 

At that, Newkirk sat up again. "Why not? He's handsome, charming, witty and _English_!" 

" _Exactly_!" Hogan said. "Only one of those describes you, and it's not even the right kind of English."

Kinch snorted. "Cary Grant speaking Cockney? I'd pay to see that."

"Hmmm. He's got a point," Buckles conceded. "Let's see… Who can pull off a convincing Cockney accent?" 

"I'm all right with Grant," Newkirk insisted. 

"Hmmm. How about Van… No. That's crazy," Buckles said, shaking whatever thought he had out of his head. "Van Johnson is completely wrong for the part. Let's see… John Mills! That's it."

"Oh no that's not right," Newkirk said hastily. "You're overthinking it, mate. I say you ought to go with your guts. The first choice is usually the best."

"Come on, Newkirk," Kinch said. "People can only suspend their disbelief so far, and the whole premise of the operation here is going to stretch it pretty thin as it is." 

"He's right," Hogan said. "Put down John Mills, Buckles."

Newkirk jumped off his bunk. "Now wait, I-" 

"Done," Buckles declared, ignoring Newkirk's protest. "All right, who's next. You-" he pointed to Carter- "I've got just the guy in mind. Dennis Day."

"Now _that's_ the only good suggestion you've had," Hogan concurred. 

"I still think his Cary Grant idea was brilliant," Newkirk groused under his breath. 

"Dennis Day?" Carter repeated. "From the Jack Benny Show?" 

"Sure," Buckles said. "He's got the character down pat already: naive, eager to please, not very bright-" 

Carter looked devastated. "Not very bright?"

"He can definitely sing too," Kinch said. 

"That settles that," Buckles said. 

"But wait-" Carter started. 

"Now Hogan, for you we need someone brave and competent. So I'm thinking… Humphrey Bogart."

"And right back to terrible!" Hogan groaned. "I'm nothing like Bogie! I'm handsome, charming, witty, mischievous- I've got a damn _twinkle_ in my eye!"

"Maybe _you_ should be the one played by Cary Grant," Kinch observed with an amused smile. 

"Oh sure," Newkirk grumbled. "He'll let him try and _American_ accent." 

"How about Dana Andrews?" Buckles suggested. 

"Too serious," Hogan said, shaking his head. 

Buckles frowned, looking frustrating. "You're a demanding lot. Okay… Twinkle… How about… Groucho Marx!" 

Hogan laughed. "That might be too much twinkle!" 

"Errol Flynn!" Carter suggested. 

"Say! Now that's an idea!" Hogan exclaimed. "Dashingly handsome, charming, brave- he checks all the boxes!" 

"Not a bad suggestion from someone who's not too bright," Carter murmured. 

"All right. Errol Flynn, Dennis Day, Gilbert Gil and John Mills. I think that wraps up the main cast," Buckles said as he threw down his pencil. 

"What about Kinch?" Carter asked. "Who should play him?" 

"Oh. Yes." Buckles cleared his throat. "Well, I think we need to go in a different direction with his character."

"What kind of direction?" Hogan asked suspiciously. 

"I mean… Write it out altogether."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees as everyone glared at Buckles, except for Carter who just looked confused. 

"But why? Kinch is basically the second in command. You can't have a movie without-" 

"It's because I'm black, Carter," Kinch snapped. 

It took a moment, but finally the realization dawned on Carter. "Oh… Oh! Hey! You can't do that!" 

"He said it himself," Buckles said, "people can only suspend their disbelief so far and a black man as second in command? They won't buy it."

"But it's the truth!" Carter protested. 

"Look, we need to-" Buckles started. 

"You need to tell the truth," Hogan said. "This is your chance to say something. To stand for something. You have the power and ability to change people's perceptions."

Buckles squirmed uncomfortably. "Well I suppose-" 

Kinch shook his head and snorted. "You know what, don't bother. I get it." 

"No, wait. You can't just let him erase you," Newkirk said. "It's not right!"

"I'd rather be erased than become a caricature," Kinch said. 

"Unacceptable. Buckles, Kinch will be in the movie, or there'll be no movie," Hogan said. 

"And you must find the right actor to play him!" LeBeau said. 

"Like Paul Robeson, but younger," Kinch said, bolstered by Hogan’s authoritative demand. "Dignified, eloquent, steady, witty, _and_ handsome." 

"Now where am I gonna find someone like that?!" Buckles demanded. 

"That's your problem," Hogan said. 

Buckles sighed, but wilted under the glares of so many men. "Fine. I'll have an open casting call. I'm sure I can find _someone_." He jot down a note then stood. He sniffed and jut out his chin in an attempt to maintain an air of superiority and indifference. "Might as well. I have to have an open audition for the parts of Tiger and Helga anyway." A lecherous smile spread across his face. "There's gotta be hundreds of eager young actresses waiting for their big break and, of course, I'll have to audition them all." He smirked at that and then hit the bunk entrance. "Yes, I definitely need to find an actress with the right… talents." And with that he climbed down into the tunnel and disappeared. 

Hogan frowned and crossed his arms. The others gather behind him, looking at the tunnel entrance with the same level of disdain. 

"Gentlemen, I think it's time we got rid of Mr. Buckles. No need to ruin the war with guys like that around."

"What are you thinking Colonel?" Newkirk asked. "Poison?" 

"Garrote?" LeBeau suggested. 

"I've got a few sticks of dynamite that have no prior engagements," Carter said eagerly. 

"No, no, nothing like that," Hogan said, although it was tempting. "We just need to send him back to the cesspool from whence he sprang." 

"Hollywood?" 

"Hollywood." 

"But he'll just go back and make the movie without our input," Carter pointed out.

"Somehow, I don't think that's going to be a problem," Hogan said. 

He had an idea.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nominations for the 2021 PBAs are in. If you haven't already, please visit the website papabearawards dot com to find a list of the nominated stories. There will be a survey available soon to cast your votes.
> 
> We encourage you to read the nominated stories before casting your vote rather than relying on just the stories you nominated. There may be some hidden gems you passed on the first time around. 
> 
> Congratulations to everyone who was nominated! Good luck in the voting round.


	5. Go Heavy on the Light Firewood

From his chair made from oil drums, Bryan Buckles munched on a woefully inadequate sandwich: two slices of baloney and a little mustard. This was certainly not the kind of food he was used to. He couldn’t wait to get back home where he had a personal chef and a standing invitation to all the best parties in town.

Upon his arrival, he had given Hogan’s men a clear list of his expectations, and yet here he was being treated like a common soldier. The food was lousy, the bed was hard, and goodness, was it cold. He could have sworn it was summer when he left home, so he wasn’t sure how it could be winter here at Stalag 13. And it had somehow gotten colder over the last few days. How was he supposed to endure this kind of cold without his goose down comforter?

He would have to talk to London about this when he got back. There was no excuse for these kinds of conditions, war or no war. Who did they think he was? He was the Bryan Buckles, filmmaker extraordinaire. He was doing these guys a favour, making a movie about them, and this was how he was treated? Ridiculous.

As soon as these guys chose the best stories about Stalag 13, the better. Then he could take them, fly home, and start making his movie. With only a few stories to choose from, his team could slap together something that was sure to bring in a decent box office return.

Outside his room, he heard two voices approaching. Good, he’d give whoever it was a piece of his mind. He brushed past the curtain that served as his door and saw two of Hogan’s men lugging a large basket filled with firewood. Buckles eyed it greedily. There was a little stove in his room that could use a nice bundle of wood.

“Set it down here, LeBeau,” Sergeant K- something or other- said. “We’ll keep it down here until Burkhalter’s done his inspection.”

“Ah, oui,” the short Frenchman grunted with a scowl. “But I do not see the point of hiding what is already hidden.”

Buckles plastered on a fake smile that he always used to charm people into cooperating. “Say there fellas, how are things going with that little contest of yours?” he asked.

The two men looked over at him and then set down their basket. “We’ve got most of the votes in. But people can still send in their votes until the end of Monday,” Sergeant K said. “After that, we’ll tally them up and announce the winners as soon as we can.”

“Sounds fine.” So he only had to get through a few more days. He could do it. He was Bryan Buckles, after all. “Now, are you sure these stories are any good?”

“Of course! The writers in our fandom are the best! The quality of their stories puts all other fandoms to shame!” the Frenchman cried. Buckles assumed he was offended, but, honestly, he always sounded like he was offended.

“Okay, okay,” Buckles said, holding up his hands a little. “Calm down. Did you fellas get your votes in?” They both nodded. “Well, if you want, I can put your picks at the top of my considerations if…”

“If what?” LeBeau asked.

“If you two actually read that list I gave you when I got here!” Buckles snapped, dropping his smile. “Honestly, how hard is it to find a good blanket around here?!”

The two men rolled their eyes. “We’ll let you know when the votes are tallied,” was all Sergeant K said before he and the Frenchman set off and disappeared down one of the tunnels.

Buckles waited until he was sure they were gone before he went for the basket. It took far too much effort, but he eventually managed to push it into his room. Then he grabbed a piece of wood. Strange- it felt rather light. Not that he really knew how heavy a piece of wood should be- this was his first time stoking his own fire. Oh well. With a shrug, Buckles threw a piece of wood into the stove, and then another. And then, for good measure, he stuffed another one in.

Perfect.

* * *

Colonel Hogan was leaning against Newkirk’s bunk when Kinch and LeBeau came back up from the tunnels.

“Did you get the wood squared away?” he asked. Kinch nodded. “Did Buckles see it?” This time, LeBeau nodded. “And did you make sure it was extra cold down there?” They both nodded.

Hogan smiled. “Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is still time to send in your votes. You have until the end of tomorrow (Monday, March 15)


	6. Goodbye, Buckles

Bryan Buckles was flabbergasted. Speechless. 

He’d spent weeks in this hell hole for  _ nothing _ !

“What do you mean, they’re gone?!” he cried, outraged. “All of them?”

Colonel Hogan stood with his arms folded, glaring at Buckles. “Not all of them,” he said tightly. He motioned to the Frenchman who quickly plucked up the last piece of firewood from the basket in Buckles’ room. He grabbed each end and pulled. The wood came apart, and a few sheets of paper fell to the floor. Sergeant Carter gathered them up.

“The snapshots are safe!” he announced brightly.

“Snapshots?” Buckles repeated.

“Yeah. Stories that are less than 1,000 words,” he explained. Buckles groaned. How could he produce a full-length movie with just 1,000 words?!

“But what were the stories doing there in the first place?” Buckles asked, motioning to the basket.

“What were you doing using up a whole basket of wood?” Hogan shot back. “It was only down here for three hours!”

Buckles flapped his lips as his face burned. “It was cold!”

“There’s a war on! We’re all cold!” Hogan replied.

“You’re soldiers. You’re paid to be cold,” Buckles said.

Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Never mind. There’s no use arguing now. We kept the stories in the wood to hide it from the Krauts. And then we brought the wood down here so that the guards wouldn’t use it to stoke the fires- there was a Red Cross inspection and Klink always wants them to think we’re all nice and cozy.”

‘Honestly, we thought it would be safe down here,” Newkirk drawled. “Didn’t think you’d dirty your hands by touching it.”

Buckles scowled. He had come here to research Hogan’s operation and get his hands on a collection of stories to use for the movie. As an added bonus, the men were going to pick the best ones, meaning his movie would have a better chance of being successful. 

Now all those stories were up in smoke. Literally.

“Do you at least have the list of the winners?” Buckles asked. Maybe he could just get the winning stories when he got back to London.

Hogan shook his head. “You burned that too.”

“It’s okay,” Sergeant K said. “I already contacted London. They’re going to drop all the stories again. We’ll just have to go run the contest again. There’s just one problem…”

Buckles had a sinking feeling in his stomach. “And what’s that?”

“They’ve already put all the stories in the archives- they’re all mixed in with stories from previous years. So if they send them… they’re going to send them all.”

That didn’t sound too bad. If there were more stories to choose from, he would be sure that the final winning stories really were the best of the best. Of course, that would mean staying here for another week or two, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

“Fine. How many stories can there be anyway?” Buckles said.

“Only about 2,400,” Hogan replied with a smirk.

“What?!” Buckles had not been expecting that. On the one hand, that meant that a lot of people were obviously interested in Hogan and his operation which was good news for his movie. On the other hand, there were 2,400 stories to read.

“2,400?” Buckles repeated. “At the rate Hogan reads, it’ll take 20 years to get through them all!”

Hogan bobbed his head from side to side. “20 years. 1943. That would make it 1963… yeah. That sounds about right. Maybe 22 years, actually.”

“Well, you can just forget it!” Buckles cried. “I’m not waiting around that long for anything!”

Hogan blinked innocently. “You mean, you’re leaving?”

“Tell London to send those stories to my office in Hollywood.” He doubted his interns would get through them any faster than Hogan (it was so hard to find good free labour these days), but at least he would be able to wait in comfort. Who knew- by the time they got through them all, maybe that television thing would be fully developed and he’d pitch the idea over to them.

“You-” Buckles said, pointing to Carter- “pack my bags! I’m leaving!”

* * *

Hogan watched Buckles’ plane take off with a sense of satisfaction. He wouldn’t miss that arrogant S.O.B in the slightest. And, with a few thousand stories to go through, he doubted Buckles would get his movie made anytime soon. For now, the secrecy of the operation was still intact.

“You got the list of the winners?” Hogan asked Kinch.

Not taking his eyes off the plane, Kinch pulled a list out of his pocket and handed it to Hogan. “I already posted them on the notice board too,” he replied.

Hogan looked over the paper and smiled. “Another successful Papa Bear Awards Season.”

“Better than the Oscars,” Kinch replied.

“Fairer too,” Hogan said.

“You think we’ll ever see Buckles again?” Kinch asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hogan said with a little smirk. “After all… Carter packed his bag!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, folks! Another PBA has been concluded. The winners are posted on the website.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who participated and made this year a sucess.
> 
> Congratulations to everyone who won! Thank you for your outstanding contributions to our fandom!


End file.
